


Royal Pain

by Mohammedbey



Category: BattleTech: MechWarrior, Mercenary - Fandom, Space - Fandom, War - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohammedbey/pseuds/Mohammedbey





	Royal Pain

Royal  
Draconis Combine, Under Federated Commonwealth Occupation  
September 21, 3039  
1300 Hours

Hauptmann Freiherr Helmut von Wiener lounged at a table at the sidewalk café he found in the small town of Charleville. The town was about fifty kilometers from the front lines, so the Lyran noble rewarded himself with a sweet, creamy latte before reporting in to headquarters. He also took the time to work on his reports, which were, as usual, late, due to his habit of drinking and carousing whenever possible.  
The manager of the café, a middle-aged man of Gallic descent, eyed the Hauptmann’s pristine Atlas and sneered when he saw the Draconis Combine insignia displayed on the Battlemech’s ponderous left leg.  
Suddenly irritated, the Freiherr put down his delicate porcelain cup of coffee and sternly addressed the man, “You don’t get to judge me,” he stated, “my employer took this contract and my terms prevented me from declining,” he added, “you may grouse about it all you want, but my commander never expected to be sent here to respond to an invasion.”  
“The Snakes conquered this world a decade ago,” said the manager, “we are finally being liberated.”  
“Potato, potahto,” replied von Wiener, with a dismissive flick of his hand, “the Houses are all the same, just with different window dressing, although the FedSuns has the worst food.”  
The man said nothing, spun on his heel and entered his café. The Freiherr shrugged and resumed his latte break. It was a lovely Spring day, in Royal’s Northern hemisphere, a few clouds with a light breeze.

After powering up his trivid pad, he began working on his summary of the previous actions of the past two weeks, based upon recorded notes:

Day 1, September 8, 3039. As per my suggestions, the unit’s aerofighters easily fended off the defender’s air assets and our Dropships landed, virtually unopposed, the only complication being Colonel Donnel’s abortive attempt to land at the spaceport, which resulted in heavy damage to the Dropship Manannan which was struck by Long Tom shells when she attempted to land. I knew the spaceport would be heavily defended but who knew the defenders fielded an entire battery of heavy artillery? The Manannan relocated twenty kilometers to the East, where the remaining Dropships established a landing zone, out of reach of the enemy.  
As I expected, the defenders in this sector are mercenaries, who have chosen to avoid battle and hole up in the capitol city. I haven’t determined which units are regulars and mercenaries, yet, but the Intelligence Section is working on that.

Day 2, after a brief skirmish that sent the enemy’s light Battlemechs scurrying to the capital, my lance and supporting units captured the spaceport. I managed to claim a mercenary Lucifer, in damaged condition that was undergoing repairs and I have already been credited for a quarter of its value. The aero was marked with the insignia of an obscure mercenary unit and the Intel people have promised to determine who they are.

Day 5, those Long Toms have been a nuisance. We dare not place any units at the spaceport, as the enemy has spotter infantry that could hide anywhere within sight and call in raining death. Those facilities would be a boon to our aero assets, instead of the poor peripheral airports we currently use. The Manannan could be repaired there as well.

Day 6, our aerofighters have been searching for the enemy artillery battery but without success. It was assumed that parts of the city were burning but the thick smoke is most likely artificially generated, and effectively obscures anything that travels at street level. When the Long Toms fire, the enemy has cleverly used explosives or other devices to mimic the flash caused by the guns firing, which had made pinpointing the battery more problematic. These guys are certainly mercenaries, as regulars are nowhere near as clever.

Day 10, a lance of fast, light Battlemechs managed to infiltrate behind our lines and attacked the support elements, causing severe damage and several casualties. I was asleep in the Dropship Leinster, at the time but those who were there are claiming to have seen a pair of machines that they could not identify. The rumor that the enemy is fielding Star League-era equipment is rampant and causing morale problems. I cannot believe that such ancient Battlemechs can be preserved and maintained for so long, and the centuries have rendered above average Battlemechs into objects of mythical power. Commoners can be such children in these matters.

He paused for a moment and flagged the waiter, “Another one, please,” he pointed at the menu, “and an apple pastry.” He saw the waiter acknowledge the order and returned to his report.

Day 12, despite my opposition, Colonel Donnel led the regiment on a frontal assault against the city. After taking thirteen percent casualties, we were forced back, even before we hit the minefields -Thank goodness the enemy lacked discipline and couldn’t wait until we were committed to the attack and pounded our ranks with artillery as we moved up. Had they waited until we hit the mines, the retreat would have been a long and slow slaughter.  
So far, it looks like it will be a war of attrition, the enemy is too afraid to leave the safety of the city and our side not stupid enough to try another frontal assault, although Colonel Donnel may take some time to recover from his injuries and the loss of two lances’ worth of Battlemechs was costly, we have the freedom of initiative, and we shall eventually find a hole in their defenses to exploit. If we had use of the spaceport, our aero could fly bombing sorties, but that’s out of the question, if their artillery remains a threat.

The Freiherr stopped making his entry when the waiter arrived with a tray with a fresh latte and a delicately painted porcelain plate with two baked pastries, golden brown, each with a dollop of sugary apple filling in the center. “Thank you,” he said, as the waiter bowed politely and returned to the café. Von Wiener picked up one of the pastries and closed his eyes as he took a bite from it. The light sweetness filled his mouth and it reminded him of the bakeries of his home on Galatea.  
“This is the life…” The mercenary’s reverie was disturbed by the vibration he could feel in his feet and hear in the rattling of the fine china. A Battlemech’s approach would be felt before it was heard, especially through pavement.  
“Odd,” he thought, “I guess one of the other members of his unit was looking for a little unscheduled R and R. He was about to return to writing his report when the light Battlemech strode around the street corner and casually strode up the café. Von Wiener sat in his chair, shocked. He couldn’t make out the design at all. It was humanoid, although its legs were the “chicken walker” type, which was good for speed. It has hands and what looked like lasers mounted on the back of its wrists. The machine was painted in an overall mustard with mottled brown camouflage. His face suddenly grew pale when he recognized the insignia. It was the same emblem he saw on the Lucifer, a silver shield with the profile of a chess knight in green. In addition to the unit marking, there was a small green flag with a gold inscription that he could only guess was Arabic. He slowly reached to his belt and unbuttoned the flap to his holster.

“Is it Helmut Freiherr von Wiener?” blared the Battlemech’s external speaker, “it certainly is, fancy meeting you here, of all places!”  
The Hauptmann frowned, the pilot’s voice was remarkably youthful and slightly accented, obviously Standard wasn’t his first language and somehow, that pilot recognized him. He thought about who he might know from Galatea that he could place…  
“It must be Allah’s will that I found you.”  
“Oh, no!” the mercenary sagged in his chair, “No, no, no…” His hands covered his face, “why me?”  
“So, is this your new Atlas I’ve heard so much about?” the strange ‘Mech slowly paced around von Wiener’s machine, “Niiiice…”  
The mercenary straightened, “Uh, so…How’s it going, Mohammed Bey?”  
“I’m doing quite well, thank you,” replied the pilot over the loudspeakers, “and I see you are enjoying the local hospitality, it was my birthday yesterday so, I’ve been celebrating.”  
The Freiherr stood up and motioned to an empty chair, “Oh, well, perhaps you should join me, my treat in honor of your birthday” he said, with a friendly smile.  
“Thank you so much,” Mohammed Bey responded, “as much as I’d love to accept your gracious offer, I happen to be working right now…and I’m not the kind of idiot to get out of my ‘Mech in a war zone.”  
“I had to try,” answered von Wiener, through a forced smile. The perspiration glistened on his forehead, “Are we done here?”

“I’ve got some business to do, but I’m going to have to run the alternatives past you first, as a professional courtesy,” stated the Azami mechwarrior, “the first is that I could have a VTOL fly in and whisk you off to a cell in the city, pending the prisoner exchange, but that could take months and…” the light Battlemech pointed at the Atlas, “I’d have to destroy this pristine machine.”  
The Lyran shuddered, “…What’s the alternative?”  
“Ah, yes! There is an HPG station here, and lucky for you, our contracts are on file,” said the young pilot, “I’ve already contacted ComStar, so all you need to do is transfer the funds to cover the ransoms for both you and your Atlas. Once your payment is confirmed, I walk away.”  
Von Wiener’s jaw dropped, “What? The combined ransoms would be five million!”  
“Seven million, non-negotiable.”

The Lyran stomped his feet in anger, “I’m not paying! What are you going to do about that?”  
The light ‘Mech stepped deftly around to the rear of the Atlas and with an open palm, pushed the assault Battlemech forward, which caused it to topple to the ground with a thunderous crash. Von Wiener noticed that several people had gathered in curiosity.  
“What the-“  
The standing ‘Mech leaned forward and from its center torso, a red beam struck the Atlas in the center of its back, which caused the armor to explode in a gout of smoke and molten fragments. The onlookers shielded their faces from the heat and many scurried for cover.  
“Oh god, stop!” the Lyran noble cried, his hands gripping his thick hair, “I’ll pay, dammit! I’ll pay!”  
“Are you sure?” As’Zaman sat back in his command couch and monitored his communications. He saw von Wiener using his tripad, his fingers tapping at various icons as he sat sullenly at his table. An icon appeared on his main display, and a “Betty” voice cheerfully announced, “Payment received.”  
“Vielen Dank, Freiherr Helmut!” announced the Azami teen through his ‘Mech’s speakers, “it is always a pleasure to do business with you.”

“Wait, wait!” shouted the Lyran mercenary, “you’re just going to run off?” he stood up and held out his hands in supplication, “tell me, what in the hell is that Battlemech?”  
“Oh, this old thing?” replied the youth, “a Mongoose 66, been in my family for over five generations.”  
“How is that even possible?”  
“Sorry,” Mohammed Bey replied, “that information is classified.”  
“How did you get this far behind our lines?”  
“That’s my job.”

The Freiherr growled, he wanted to throttle the little punk. “I didn’t see you during the last battle.”  
“Ah, I was out doing something else,” explained AsZaman, “Colonel Valborg didn’t stick to my plan and started dropping the artillery too soon,” he said, “your Battlemechs didn’t even reach the minefields.”  
“I knew it! It was a trap all along!”  
“Oh, no, that wasn’t the trap,” corrected the teen, “the trap was the ‘Mech battalion I was leading through the woods to cut you off,” he continued, “had you bogged down at the minefields, our flanking units would have appeared behind you, at least, that was my plan.”  
The Hauptmann was stunned, “So, this whole campaign was a waste of time.”

“You’re getting paid to be here,” said the teen, his tone consoling, “the capitol now has three regiments of militia infantry, in addition to another regiment’s worth of mercenary forces, we were just biding time for the locals to get their act together to put their own boots in the ground.”  
Von Wiener kicked the nearest chair, sending it flying, “Jesus! What did the Combine expect us to do?”  
“Nothing,” offered the teen, “they sent their best units to reclaim the high priority worlds, and to keep the FedCom off balance with a counteroffensive,” he sighed, “you were sent here as a token gesture to save face.”  
“You’re Combine,” von Wiener pointed out, “why are you even fighting for the FedCom?”  
“I’m an Azami, the Draconis Combine are allies,” Mohammed Bey answered, “ironically, I was bored with being on reserve status so I took leave to be a mercenary,” he said, “I didn’t expect this war to break out, although I did see a lot of movement in the months prior to the offensive, while on Galatea, and I reported my observations to my people, those reports would have eventually made it to the Combine; It was mere coincidence that Colonel Valborg accepted this contract, it was for garrison duty, while the new government consolidated.”  
“So, the Dracs were ready for this?”  
“Yes and no,” replied the Azami pilot, “they knew something was coming in a general sense but wouldn’t know the specific targets until they were actually hit, and there should have been multiple feints.”  
The Lyran mercenary took his seat and tapped at his virtual keyboard, “I hope you don’t mind if I add a few things to my report.”

“Go ahead, you should be getting a recall order from the Combine in a month or so,” Mohammed Bey informed him, “and Captain Shinsato wants his Lucifer back.”  
The Lyran officer paused, “He could ransom it back.”  
“There is no way you’re going to remove it from the Spaceport.”  
“I could destroy it.”  
“Point taken, I’ll have the captain contact you to hammer out the details, for a small fee of course…”  
“Deal,” he looked into the café, “Garcon! A fresh latte, please!”  
“Time for me to head back to the barn,” announced Mohammed Bey, “the units you called are getting close.”  
“Wait, what?” von Wiener was incredulous, “how did you know?”  
“Remote sensors,” the teen replied, “as I said, that’s my job.”  
“No way!”  
“A pair of Stingers, a Commando and a Firestarter…I could actually beat them…”  
“What?” the Freiherr was on his feet again.  
“But I shouldn’t be so greedy,” mused the teen, “after all, ComStar confirmed my kill claim for an Atlas today.”  
“You…”  
“I’m going to go beat it, now…Byeeee!” The cheerful tone in the teen’s voice irritated the Lyran even more…

Hauptmann Freiherr von Wiener glumly looked at his fallen Atlas, the Mongoose’s laser didn’t come close to penetrating the rear torso armor, but the repairs will still be written up, unless he slipped the crew a convincing bribe…”War is hell,” he muttered under his breath, then he sat down and waited for Captain Shinsato to contact him to negotiate the ransom for that Lucifer.


End file.
